and all the lovely angels sing
by XxZuiliu
Summary: You are born in a body that's wrong, in a world gone wrong. It's a disaster from the very beginning. [OC, AU, dark, heavy warnings]
1. of songs unsung and songs unheard

Title: and all the lovely angels sing

Rating: M

Summary: You are born in a body that's wrong, in a world gone wrong. It's a disaster from the very beginning. [OC, AU, dark, heavy warnings]

 **Warnings:** Violence, gore, disturbing elements, etc. Additional **trigger warnings** for coercion, sexual abuse, descriptive violence/body harm in future chapters. _Please note that certain views/actions of the characters portrayed in this story are not necessarily reflective of the author's own beliefs, and are not socially acceptable in any way, shape, or form._

AN at bottom.

.

* * *

 **and all the lovely angels sing**

 _"1. of songs unsung and songs unheard"_

* * *

.

Like most people, you do not want to die. Perfectly understandable.

But death is a cruel mistress, and no one is capable of resisting death, when death comes calling. The mightiest of leaders, the lowest of beggars –all are equal when lain prostrate before the unrelenting maws of death, and you are no different from any of them. Plain, average white-collar young woman that you are, there is absolutely nothing special about you that sets you apart from the countless thousands of men who've died before you, and the thousands who will doubtlessly die thereafter. You are no exception. Until you are.

This is what happens:

You die. Then, miracle of miracles, you wake up again in the body of a newborn infant.

And that's where things start going wrong.

.

* * *

.

(Reincarnation is a _myth._ A fantasy. But it's also a _mistake._ Something undoubtedly, undeniably wrong.

Maybe it was some small oversight in the working cogs of the cosmic universe that resulted in your being reborn with memories intact. Maybe it was at the absentminded whims of some careless deity. But no matter what the reason might be, you're firmly of the opinion that it's nothing but a mistake of such stupidly colossal proportions that it had _better never fucking happen again._

Once is already one times too many.)

.

* * *

.

White-washed walls. Dilapidated room.

You are born again in some nameless hospital to some nameless couple as the younger twin to another similarly nameless child. There is never a chance for you to learn anything about your newest blood relations, because the next time you blink open your eyes from the murky depths of fitful sleep, you've been whisked away to some shady warehouse and are being raised with a dozen other screaming, wailing infants.

(Never. Again.)

You do not mourn the startling loss of your new family, because they are not _yours,_ not in any way that truly matters, and you have no attachments to them aside from a vague, fuzzy impression of warmth and soft voices. To you, they might as well be strangers. Paper cut-outs. Fake and fickle and fleeting.

In all honesty, you're far more concerned about being stuffed into an infant's body than anything else. Something like this, it's… it's so utterly, _utterly wrong_ that you can't even put into proper words how uncomfortable and disgusting and grotesque it all is. You feel like a filthy parasite, leeched on and trapped in a body that is quite clearly _not yours._ The body of a newborn _child,_ even _._ It's sickening and macabre and downright inhumane when you think about it in those terms, and it makes you want to die all over again.

It's even a male body that you're now inhabiting, and that itself is on so many other levels of wrongness that it's long bypassed _creepy_ and directly moved onto _revolting_ instead.

You want to die every time you look into a mirror. The only thing that stays your hand is your own cowardliness, and even then, you're not sure how long it will suffice.

Or if you even want it to.

.

* * *

.

You grow up with some twenty-odd other children in a rundown warehouse, and you are utterly alone. Children are smart. Smarter than adults usually give them credit for. You are a ghost piloting the body of a boy you unintentionally murdered, and the other children are aware of the _wrongness_ in you, on some level, and this suits you just fine. You've never really liked children, anyways.

The adult caretakers in charge of all of you are… heavily scarred, missing limbs, or any mix of the two. Soldiers, perhaps, but their bearing and posture and language reminds you of street thugs who jumped into one street fight too many instead. They do not want to be here looking after rowdy brats, and they make their displeasure known. It hadn't been as bad as infants, but as children, able to roughhouse and much, much sturdier than delicate little infants…

You are by far the quietest of the lot, and it keeps their harsher attentions off of you. The other children notice this, and this perceived favoritism from the only adult figures in your lives means that there is a solidly united force of jealousy that very quickly forms between them and is specifically aimed at you.

Fact: Children are cruel.

So are you.

Your current body is pint-sized and too-thin and _male,_ but it's still leagues beyond your previous one, in terms of ability. You're a hell of a lot faster and stronger and sturdier than you remember being, than should even be physically _possible_ for such a young child. No surprise, then, that it's the easiest thing in the world to come out on top in every scuffle.

Beating up ignorant children for petty schoolyard reasons should be beyond you, but violence sings a siren song in your veins, and sometimes the heady rush of adrenaline and breathless burn in your muscles is almost enough to make you forget about the perpetual discomfort of being trapped in a body that's not yours in a way that is utterly _wrong._

Your fellow children soon realize that fists are not enough, and begin collecting pointy sticks and sharp rocks. The first few times this happens, you come away with a lot more nasty scratches and ugly bruises than all their previous efforts combined, and this redoubles their enthusiasm.

You are _not_ going to be bested by a group of narrow-minded, violent children. You're pathetic, but not that pathetic.

It takes only two weeks for your body to adapt to this change in onslaught and become untouchable once more. Progress. Everything is easier in this body that isn't yours, but on cold nights when the wind stands still, you still wonder if you can escape by climbing out of this skin.

The final straw comes when the oldest and biggest kid of the lot sneaks into the kitchens. It's not like your caretakers ever really pay attention to what any of you do, preoccupied as they are with activities that they don't even bother hiding from the children. Women, drugs, alcohol.

The little ringleader lifts a knife from the kitchens. A fucking _carving knife._

When he pulls it on you, something in your mind blanks out. Vicious scrapes and mean scuffles, you can understand, but this? This is way too far. _This goes way too far._ It's hard to pin down what your motions are in this moment, exactly, as you realize that the six year old kid has a knife and is fully intent on using it to eviscerate you. Indignant rage? Disbelief?

Whatever it is, by the time you finally come back to yourself, you find that the world has gained a purple sheen to it and all of the other children are staring at you with varying degrees of fear and shock. The self-absorbed kid who'd pointed a knife at you is a bloody smear on the ground, and you are caked up to your forearms in sticky, scarlet liquid. The entire front of your shirt feels oddly warm and wet, and something seems to have splattered onto your face as well.

You're also on fire.

… As in, there are literal flames burning across your body –oh, this would be why it looks like everything has been painted over in varying shades of purple. You're covered in a thick coat of purple flames that burn and don't burn all at once, and you've never felt stronger and more settled in this body-that-isn't-your-body.

In retrospect, there have been several hints before. This is the moment when you come to the clear, sinking realization that the world you've been reborn into isn't quite the same as the one in your memories.

.

* * *

.

 _"Interesting. Didn't know you broke them in so young."_

 _"Don't give me that shit; this one just went and spontaneously combusted in the middle of the yard on his own, according to the reports. Weird little kid, bit of a loner, keeps getting into random scuffles with the other brats for no apparent reason… Seems like he's a damn strong Cloud, though, going by those flames of his."_

 _"I see."_

 _"So, do you think he'll be satisfied? There's quite a large age gap this time; the kid's only seven…"_

 _"But there's no harm in trying, is there? Send him over, and we'll see."_

.

* * *

.

Ever since you woke up and suddenly found yourself living in a run-down hovel with over a dozen other similarly parentless children, you've always been aware that your caretakers are probably the farthest example there is from good, law-abiding citizens. It's only common sense. Rather obvious, too, especially since they never bother hiding anything. _Drugs, women, alcohol._

You'd say something about bad influences and impressionable children, but it's not your problem. It's not like you'd come away with anything but yet another vicious beating in the name of 'disciplining.'

… Although, after the spontaneous self-combustion incident that day, suddenly the caretakers are a lot more careful around you. They speak in softer voices and try to censor their language, give you the lion's share of meals and never raise a hand towards you again. It's mildly alarming and downright _suspicious._ It's not difficult to put two and two together and deduce that this is in all likelihood because of the purple flames.

Purple flames, what the hell.

Just, what the hell.

Fire isn't supposed to be purple. This you know for a fact. Fire isn't purple, and it isn't possible for people to set themselves on fire without a matchstick, either. Then again, people aren't supposed to die and be reborn as infants, so maybe it's just a small matter of perspective that's in question here.

… Who are you kidding, it's not just a matter of perspective.

You stare contemplatively at the purple flame dancing in the palm of your hand. Flickering, like luminous candlelight in the swaying breeze. If you had to put it into words, it's like there is a slow, steady warmth somewhere inside you, some extra layer of… _other._ No. It's not something you can put into words. It just _is,_ and now that you've uncovered it, you realize just how _cold_ and _empty_ you were before.

You still feel like an imposter dressed in someone else's flesh and blood, but it… helps. Because even though you breathe and eat and sleep with the body, oftentimes it comes across to you as a well-oiled machine that you happen to operate instead of, y'know, your own body. But these flames? You can _feel_ them, and they make you feel… real.

"Six?"

Ah, that is your designation. Kid no.6, out of twenty-something other children. You close your hand into a fist and extinguish the fire in your hands, but judging by the half-wary, half-cautious look on the face of the caretaker who came to fetch you from your room –and you actually have a room all to yourself now, the novelty of it– you probably weren't fast enough to prevent him from catching sight of you playing with your flame entirely.

Fair enough. You would be concerned, too, if you had a pyromaniac kid living in your very wooden, very flammable warehouse-hideout. So far, you've only managed to deduce that the purple flame will not burn you, but everything else is fair game.

"The overseers are here to pick you up, Six. You'll be able to live in far better conditions than this shi- than this hovel. Consider yourself lucky."

The self-loathing mockery in his last words do not escape you. It's not exactly confidence-inspiring, but you stand up from the floor and follow him nonetheless. You might be indisputably the strongest among the children, but you are well aware that any of the caretakers could probably crush you like a bug, purple fire or no.

"You're a smart one, so I'll keep this short," he grunts to you. His hands clench around the filthy crutch he uses for his missing right leg. "Kazu, Scrapper, and I all had our chances before, but we're just messed up failures. We're just grunts, though, so it doesn't matter. You've probably figured out by this point that you're special. Not gonna deny that. But it just means that the price of failure for you will be far worse than something as tame as being kicked aside to play babysitter."

"… How much worse?"

He slants a sideways glance at you with his one remaining eye. "Imagine the worst thing that could possibly happen to you. I can guarantee that it'll be a hundred times worse than that. Higuchi-sama is a cruel man. Great, but cruel."

In the few moments that it takes for him to lead you to the doorway and hand you off to men in suits, he's spoken more words to you than the entire years you've lived here.

It's the kindest thing anyone does for you for a long, long time.

.

* * *

.

Neither of the suited men speak to you in the car, and that's fine. You don't initiate conversation beyond muttering the obligatory greetings, either. More opportunities for them to take offense for some godforsaken reason and beat you to a pulp. Yes, they certainly appear to be much more disciplined than your old caretakers, but you'd rather not take your chances.

It's… maddening. Everything about being a kid is maddening. You've only been gone for less than a day from the warehouse, but at least in the warehouse the caretakers hadn't really cared about what any of the children did, as long as they didn't raise a ruckus or get underfoot. Here, it's so painfully obvious that your every action is observed and controlled, and it almost makes you want to break something.

Almost.

You're not sure how long the drive lasts. By the time the car finally comes to a stop, the noontime day has already faded to dusky night, and your body is tired and hungry and you want nothing more than to just lie down and curl up and never wake up again.

But you're poked and prodded and forcibly dragged out of the car by the suited men and hauled into a fancy-looking building and led into an elevator. Several twists and turns and subtle trapdoors later, you're standing in a pristine European-style room.

"Higuchi-sama." Both men slip into deep, reverent bows in perfect synchronicity. "As you've ordered, we've brought the boy to you."

There is only a single man sitting behind the large desk in the center of the room. Higuchi-sama. Well-dressed and respectable-looking, with a face that would not be unhandsome by most standards. A young man in his twenties, coal-black hair and gold-brown eyes that gleam beneath the lamplight as he looks up and stares straight at _you._

Instinctively, you dislike him. Not only does he look at you the way one might assess or appraise their merchandise, there is also a distinctly sharp air to him that says that this man is a man who knows what he wants and has no qualms about the methods he uses to get what he wants. Confident and self-assured in his own superiority, suave and charming. It's rather distasteful.

Goosebumps do not break out on your skin at the continued intense scrutiny you receive from him, but it's a close thing.

"Well done," he finally says, and you know that he's not addressing you. "You may leave now."

"Yes, Higuchi-sama."

The men leave, heavy footsteps clapping against then ground, then fading entirely. For a moment, silence hangs in the room, thick and suffocating. Then:

"Show me your flame."

You do not like being commanded. Briefly, you consider disobeying. _Higuchi-sama is a cruel man._

… You're still a coward. You do not want to die quite just yet. So even though it makes something ugly and stifling sit across your chest, you wordlessly raise a palm in front of you and dredge up a small flicker of the purple flames for the viewing of your one-man audience.

Luckily, it seems that Higuchi-sama does not take offense at your reluctance to abide by his order, though he does smirk wryly. "Ren-kun would not have brought you to my attention if this is the extent of your potential. _Show me your flame."_

You hesitate. Again. This time, it's not just your mind. Even your body –the body you so effortlessly operate and control, the body that _is not yours–_ protests against it, protests against revealing the purple flames to this man, strangely enough. Intellectually, you know that there shouldn't be any reason to dither around and drag your feet so much, but instinctively, it's another matter altogether. There's something about this entire situation that raises the hairs on the back of your neck, even if you can't quite put a voice to what it is, exactly, and it–

 _"Show me your flame."_

This time, the command is accompanied by a sudden _flood_ of hot, scorching _intent,_ that _burns_ you, and you instinctively draw on the flames in a heartbeat. Purple flames roar to life around you, a wild, untamed inferno of desperation to keep out the gold-orange flames that have appeared out of nowhere.

"Magnificent," the man breathes, and smiles. Something else flickers in his eyes when he looks at you now, and it makes you want to run. But there's nowhere for you to run to. "It's enough. More than I ever expected… you're a gem, little one. I'm definitely keeping you."

 _No._

For once, your mind and body are in perfect agreement, perfect harmony with each other. _No, no, no, no, no._ Whatever Higuchi is doing, you want no part in it. The _want_ that all but radiates from him, this covetousness and desire, so strong and tangible with your flames lain out before each other, it's… disgusting. It's disgusting, the way it reaches out for you and grasps at you and coils around you and–

And in the end, you've always known somewhere inside that this was a losing battle from the beginning, perhaps from the very moment you summoned purple flames to defend yourself from a boy who wanted to kill you.

(What it all boils down to is this: You are a scrawny little kid, tired and underfed. No matter your body's resistance and your mind's revulsion, there is no contest. There was never any contest.)

It happens suddenly, the way a balloon bursts. Like fireworks in too-close proximity. Something crackles and _snaps_ in the air, and in a burst of fierce, fiery pain that lances throughout your entire body, the revolting sensation of something reaching in and just _burning_ itself inside you, so deep that you will never be able to uproot it, branding you just like cattle…

Dimly, you're peripherally aware that you've fallen to your knees at some point. You're vomiting on the ground. Your stomach churns nauseatingly, and something burns in the back of your throat. Higuchi is crouched next to you, gently stroking your back not unlike the way one would a favored pet. You feel like crawling out of your own skin all over again, any semblance of peace you've found through discovering the purple flames ruthlessly crushed in a heartbeat.

In this moment, you don't think you've ever hated anyone or anything as fiercely as you do Higuchi.

"Welcome to the family, little one," he tells you with a smile.

You do not understand the implications of his words, nor his actions. It does not stop your blood from freezing like ice in your veins.

.

* * *

.

...

.

* * *

Author's Notes:

New plot bunny! This should be relatively short, I think. Will probably add extra POVs and such in later chapters at some point. We'll get to canon characters eventually...

ALSO: Views espoused by certain characters in this story are not necessarily the author's views. Obviously. This is kind of a dark fic similar to _this road,_ so pay attention the the warnings at the top of the page.

-XxZuiliu


	2. with voices lost to bitter wind

Title: and all the lovely angels sing

Rating: M

Summary: You are born in a body that's wrong, in a world gone wrong. It's a disaster from the very beginning. [OC, AU, dark, heavy warnings]

 **Warnings:** Violence, gore, disturbing elements, etc. Additional **trigger warnings** for coercion, sexual abuse, descriptive violence/body harm in future chapters. _Please note that certain views/actions of the characters portrayed in this story are not necessarily reflective of the author's own beliefs, and are not socially acceptable in any way, shape, or form._

AN at bottom.

.

* * *

 **and all the lovely angels sing**

 _"2. with voices lost to bitter wind"_

* * *

.

Higuchi Ryuuya is the young leader of the Morningstar, a cutthroat criminal organization that he inherited from his grandfather after the 'unfortunate' death of his father.

Apparently, the purple flames you can summon at will are called Cloud flames, and that means you're a Cloud. Higuchi's flames are an ostentatious orange, and mark him as a Sky. He also proceeds to inform you, shortly after you've finished regurgitating the contents of your stomach on his carpet, that he is _your_ Sky, meaning that he's now the most important person in your life. Since you're now bonded to him and are considered one of his Guardians.

… What a joke. You, Higuchi's _Guardian?_ A child, guarding a twenty-something grown man?

Ridiculous.

"This is Yamasaki Hirohito, my Lightning," the smiling man gestures amicably at an elderly man who doesn't so much as even twitch from the corner, and you're not fooled in the slightest. "Nakajima Minoru, Sun." The towering mass of muscle hovering behind him gives a low grunt. Unbothered by the lack of response, Higuchi turns to the side. "And this is Otsuka Ren, my Rain Guardian. You were previously a ward of his men, and it was he who brought you to my attention, once he received the reports."

Otsuka Ren slips you a crooked grin, waggling his fingers. "Yo, kid. Ryuu-kun, glad you finally found a match."

Match, indeed. You think of the disgusting way Higuchi's flames had curled over yours, the overwhelming sense of sheer violation that you still feel even now, and say nothing.

(Something burns in your core, bright and strong and ugly. Its name is _hate._ You haven't felt this strongly about anything in a long, long time. Laughable, isn't it?)

"Everyone, this is… Tsukiya." You barely even bat an eye, no reaction whatsoever to the impromptu naming. In comparison to the disgustingly cloying sensation of Higuchi's flames roiling beneath your skin, this is nothing. You could care less what they call you. In fact, it would be best if no one ever called you at all, but… but that's just wishful thinking. Your hands twitch, wanting to clench into fists at the thought. "We Harmonized earlier. He is my Cloud."

No. You are not _his._

… Except you are, you _are,_ and there's no changing this fact; you know it in your bones, even though it's repulsive and _wrong_ and–

And–

There's _nothing_ you can do about it. What can you do?

… You haven't been keeping track of your age, but there's no way you're any older than eight or nine at this point. Run? _How?_ Where to? _There is no escape._ There had never been any escape, not from the first moment you opened your eyes to this strange new world where you don't belong, will never belong.

Punishment, perhaps, for usurping a body and life that were never yours. That you never asked for, in the first place. But that doesn't matter; intentions never matter.

Only actions.

"Welcome, Tsukiya," Higuchi's Guardians tell you, and you want to _scream._ But screaming solves nothing, and so you remain mute and allow your silence to speak for you. That none of them notice your obvious discomfort, your resentment –more likely, none of them _care,_ why would they– speaks volumes for what you can expect from your imminent future.

You're not looking forward to it.

.

* * *

.

Things change, now that you are considered one of Higuchi's Guardians. His Cloud Guardian. What an eight year old kid can even do to guard a grown-ass man and one as ruthless as Higuchi, you have no idea. But that's what they say you are, and apparently, that's what Higuchi wants you to do.

And what Higuchi wants, Higuchi gets.

He sends tutors your way –mostly other scarred men of varying degrees who work under him in his organization that you're still not quite clear on the details of– and at Higuchi's behest, they teach you all sorts of things. Mathematics and literature and chemistry. How to pick a lock or forge someone's handwriting or lie convincingly to the authorities. You have zero interest in complying with Higuchi's wishes, zero interest in developing a skillset tailored for organized crime–

But your wants have never mattered now, have they?

The lessons range from mind-numbingly boring to mildly interesting, and for all your quietly simmering hate of Higuchi and everything related to the man, your body still soaks up everything like a sponge, despite your reluctance. And it's. Maddening. Maddening, how every sign even remotely close to rebellion that you express is met with swift punishment in the form of immediate violence, how even the twitch of a finger at the wrong moment earns you a heavy kick to the ribs.

"You are my Cloud," Higuchi says to you, stroking your bruised face with warm, calloused hands, but his eyes are frigid and cold. "You are allowed to be distant, but you are nonetheless still expected to obey me in all matters. Is that understood, Tsukiya?"

Is that understood, he says. Commands. You're not a _dog._ But all you can do is sit there in silence, as the man leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, an endearment void of all affection, and you close your eyes. Higuchi cares far too much for your purple flames to destroy you –or allow you to destroy yourself.

Suicide is something you attempt in the first month after being _branded_ by Higuchi, when everything finally gets to be too much for you, and you just want it all to _stop._ Death might not have taken the first time, but perhaps a second try would finally do the trick. And even if it doesn't, anything is better than Higuchi.

Suicide is something you attempt once and only once. You don't like to dwell on the memory of the failed aftermath.

 _Higuchi-sama is a cruel man._

… It's how you learn that Higuchi has you watched at all times, and it's not a pleasant realization. But there's nothing you can do about it. What can you do?

It's only the little things left in your power now, and you retaliate by ignoring your lessons. You're punished for it, of course, but you don't care. You feel _cheated._ In a rare brazen recklessness, you make it known to Higuchi that even though he can control every aspect of your life, the only way he'll have your compliance is over your dead body.

Higuchi responds by upping the ante, and the contents of your lessons change. Interrogation. Torture resistance.

You're not broken, because you refuse to give Higuchi the satisfaction of breaking you. But you do not come out of this ordeal unscathed, and maybe that's the entire point of Higuchi doing this in the first place. Higuchi doesn't care how you feel, as long as he can bring you to heel.

 _Higuchi-sama is a cruel man._

It works.

… Eventually, you stop resisting. Not because your hatred for Higuchi has faltered any, but simply because of the sheer _pointlessness_ of it all. Because you are forced to admit to yourself that these futile attempts at resistance have never accomplished anything for you, save for garnering more punishments, and while you don't _care_ about the punishments, there comes a point when a person finally becomes tired enough to just… stop caring, period. Free agency, free will? What's the _point,_ when you're leashed and collared like a dog?

 _Higuchi-sama is a cruel man._

.

* * *

.

You don't have a birthday. Certainly, you know that you must have a birth certificate somewhere out there, but it had been lost to you the day you were stolen from your crib. Higuchi magnanimously gives you a birthday: The date of your Harmony with him.

You have absolutely nothing to say to the disgusting man about that. Luckily, Higuchi does not expect you to, only pressing another cold, cold kiss to your forehead and telling you that he has a lovely surprised planned for you.

For your birthday, Higuchi has your instructors take the last step, and teach you how to kill.

Turns out, you're a _natural._

.

* * *

.

(Must be something about the whole dying and being reborn business, you think. That, and the being raised in a criminal organization situation and _Higuchi_.

Intellectually, you know that an aptitude like this is _wrong,_ and all it does is make you even more disgusted with yourself, which you didn't even realize was even still possible at this point.

Higuchi and his men are always teaching you new things. Always.)

.

* * *

.

The first time you kill a man, you plant a bullet in his skull from the rooftops. Perfect headshot. Blood and bits of broken skull paint the ground, in a disgustingly gory burst, scarlet and fleshy. None of it feels real. Nothing has felt real to you for a long time, especially not since the day Higuchi forcibly claimed you as his Cloud Guardian. Nothing ever does.

This body of yours moves like a dream; aim, fire, reload. Smooth in completion, and flawless in execution.

 _See? There's no doubt about it. Tsuki-kun here is a natural._

You look at the prone, bleeding corpse of a once-living man with your instructors' empty praise ringing in your ears, and wonder what it's like to be alive.

.

* * *

.

Time passes.

Somewhere along the lines, you just… close your eyes and give in. Killing is easy. Apathy shrouds you like an ever-present cloak, and you blankly listen to the commands you are given, mechanically obey Higuchi's orders to kill and kill and _kill._

It's easy to kill, when you don't feel anything about it. It's so easy that it's almost _scary,_ and it is for this reason that you eventually take a sword into your hands and put aside your guns. There's something a lot more personal and visceral about holding a blade and cutting someone into bloody chunks than standing from afar and mechanically firing bullets at them. _More real,_ and you can almost pretend that you're still alive, instead of puppeteering a dead body.

It doesn't last, unfortunately.

You kill your sword instructor by accident one day and entirely on reflex alone when the middle-aged man attempts to murder you. It's a shame, because he's one of the few people you've actually grown to like –or at least, tolerate more than the usual kind who willingly associate themselves with Higuchi. You don't know where Higuchi found this particular instructor and you don't know what he promised him to teach you, but he's been one of the few people perfectly aware of Higuchi's monstrous nature and more than willing to call him out on it.

Unfortunately, he's dead now. Dying.

The man coughs, mouth wet with blood, and mutters something about disgracing his ancestors' sword style. Something about being unable to resist temptation, when presented with such terrible talent, and something about creating a monster. You listen to his blood-flecked words without really hearing anything at all.

The swordsman dies cursing you and cursing Higuchi, and it's the closest you ever feel towards any of your instructors.

You leave a bowl of sake for the man on his grave.

.

* * *

.

Before you really notice it, "Higuchi's little boy-killer" becomes a Thing, which is… not wrong, exactly. You gain a reputation for being Higuchi's youngest, most vicious attack dog; other men might just put a bullet in his enemies or slit their throats in the dead of the night, but the little boy will leave them in bloody _pieces._

You even get a name out of this – _Youtou,_ demon blade. It's needlessly dramatic, but Higuchi seems pleased. Higuchi has been very pleased recently, and that never means well. You resist the urge to shudder.

(Seven years, from toddling child to cat-footed teen, pressing down upon you with all the weight of seven decades. Not a day goes by that you don't wake up wanting to crawl out of your own skin and leave this hollow husk of a shell behind.)

"You _monster!"_

You're a monster, yes. Of course you are. Higuchi has made you into one. You're a monster in the hand of a monstrous monster. You look the young, trembling boy directly in the eyes –he's scared, that much is obvious. Perfectly reasonable; you'd just decapitated his father in front of him, after all, before proceeding to slaughter everyone else in the meeting room. Higuchi's orders.

You turn and walk towards him, carelessly pulling out your late instructor's sword and leveling it in the boy's direction. _No survivors,_ Higuchi's words echo in your head, the ghostly imprint of a blank kiss, and it makes you want to reach up and claw his voice out of your skull. If only it were that easy to escape him.

Higuchi's flames coil around your own beneath your skin, and it makes you see _red._

"D-Don't come any closer! I'll _scream!"_

Doesn't matter; there's no one around to listen. You tell the trembling boy as much, voice flat, and he… loses control of his bowels.

It's ugly, messy. It always is.

You've never cared for it, and never will.

"D-D-Don't kill me! I-I haven't done anything! I-I-aAAAAAaA–"

…

Soon, the little boy's corpse is utterly unrecognizable, against the ten-odd other men in the room.

You look down at your hand, pale and pristine. Just like Higuchi's.

You sheathe the sword you lifted from your late instructor's corpse with a loud _click,_ before you give into the urge to chop off your own hands.

You're not that far gone yet. Soon, perhaps.

But not yet.

.

* * *

.

 _"You're such a good boy, Tsuki-kun."_

Cold words, accompanied by a colder kiss.

You open your eyes, and feel nothing.

.

* * *

.

Seasons change, summer dying into autumn bleeding into winter. Your body grows from an awkward teen into something more settled in its own skin, as your face becomes sharp angles and your body gains more muscle definition, smooth and lithe, and you deliberately work to keep it that way. It's not exactly a vanity thing so much as it is your eternal unwillingness for this body to be more stereotypically male than it already physically is, one of the few aspects of your life that you've retained control over, somehow, over the years. You've never quite been able to come to terms with the bodysnatching, but… but it helps.

Or so you think.

.

* * *

.

Your first warning comes the day when Higuchi _pauses_ as he catches sight of you. You've been gone only a month and nothing should be different, but somehow everything has changed. His eyes rove up, down, up, and then he plasters a charming smile onto his face and turns back to continuing conversation with the man sitting across from him without skipping a beat.

You tell yourself it's nothing, even as his lips linger on your forehead a heartbeat longer than usual. Unfortunately, it's not.

Your second warning is when he suddenly catches your hand when you set down a stack of paperwork on his desk. Usually, the most he'll do is just just pat you the way one might a particularly well-liked dog. His hand is warm and scalding and makes you almost as uncomfortable as his Sky flames do, and you'd cut his entire arm off, if you could muster up the motivation to.

"Such scarred hands, Tsuki-kun," Higuchi murmurs, eyes lidded and lowered. "And all for me, isn't it?"

You're distantly disgusted, revolted by his apparent attraction to this body of yours, but you're careful not to let it show. Or perhaps, it's more accurate to say that you don't care enough to let anything show. There's very little that you care about nowadays, if you've ever cared for anything in the first place. _Higuchi-sama is a cruel man._

Higuchi strokes your hand for a few moments, then finally releases you.

You abruptly turn on your heel and leave.

… There are several other instances, of course. The last and worst of them all is Otsuka.

It's Otsuka's slow, sly grin as he saunters over to your room one evening right after you've collapsed from a month-long mission, and informs you in no uncertain terms that Higuchi is looking for you, the swagger in his steps as he follows you to Higuchi's room.

When you open the door, however, it's to find the normally immaculate Higuchi-san lounging languidly with a woman in his arms. She's a pretty thing, all long lashes and full lips and curvaceous body, and it's not exactly a surprise to find Higuchi-san like this. In some ways, all men are the same. But given the timing…

Alarm bells blare in the back of your head, and you're suddenly acutely aware of the way Otsuka stands behind you in the doorway… sealing off your only exit.

 _"Tsuki-kun?"_

"Just 'Tsuki-kun?' I'm hurt, fearless leader," Otsuka drawls from the side. "What, not gonna invite us in?"

Higuchi's eyes narrow even as he sits up and promptly shoves the half-dressed prostitute off his lap. She falls to the ground, and hurriedly flees from the room. You'd flee, too, but Otsuka has a death grip on your shoulder, and with a start you realize that he's doing something to you with his flames and you can't–

"C'mon, Ryuu-kun," Otsuka cajoles in a sing-song tone. "Don't think I haven't noticed the way you've been looking at Tsuki-chan here for the past year. He's always been a pretty little thing, and he's an even prettier little thing nowadays, isn't he?"

No. _No._ For the first in a long time, something stirs in your chest, burning and freezing all at once. The pieces are starting to come together, painting an image that is horribly, terribly clear–

"Ren–"

 _"You know you want to, Ryuu-kun,"_ Otsuka bats his eyes in a way that fools no one, and Higuchi swallows. Roughly. After the attentions of the prostitute earlier, he's already halfway there. Men like him have never been good at curbing their desires, nor have they ever had any need to.

When he reaches for your paralyzed body, you jerk back, somehow forcibly breaking through the sluggish haze that Otsuka's flames have imposed on you. There is very little will that you have for anything nowadays, but –there is no other word for it– _horror_ trickles down your spine, ice-cold, and something very much like _clarity_ washes across you, and–

And none of it matters, when Higuchi lets out a tired sigh, then leans in and kisses you.

It's a soft kiss, right in the center of your forehead just as he's done a thousand times before, and you freeze.

(You know what Higuchi wants from you. You know that it's repulsive, and you _refuse_ to be violated –except, the second that his lips press upon your forehead, everything fades away. Intellectually, you _know,_ but you don't _feel,_ and it's–

It's–)

Otsuka lets out a low whistle from somewhere behind you. "Damn, it's always so unnerving to watch you do that. How many times does it make this?"

Higuchi huffs in amusement, straightening. "Does it even matter? Tsuki-kun here is a wild one. I'll do it as many times as I need to in order to keep him in line."

You hear what they're saying. Your mind processes everything perfectly fine. But somehow, the words mean nothing to you, and… and that's wrong. You _know_ that's wrong.

"Your mother certainly taught you a very scary trick from her repertoire, Ryuu-kun."

"My mother was a very scary woman," Higuchi agrees idly, stepping back and letting his eyes roam over your body. You can't muster up the motivation to move, to leave, to _run._ Why? "It's lucky that Mist is my secondary alignment; otherwise, her tricks wouldn't nearly be half as effective in my hands."

… You hate Higuchi. You _hate_ Higuchi. This is a fact that has never changed. So why–?

"Come here, Tsukiya."

Your body –this body that you happen to inhabit– moves forward of its own will, and you're pulled along with it, marionette tied by strings.

You're terrified. Or at least, you _would_ be, if this body were still capable of experiencing terror. What has Higuchi _done_ to you?

 _Higuchi-sama is a cruel man._

"Kiss me," your Sky commands, and your body mechanically obeys, the way it's been doing for _years,_ even as something in you breaks and _screams._

.

* * *

.

Choice is just an illusion, freedom a delusion.

.

* * *

.

(This body was never yours in the first place. It's not you. _It's not you.)_

(… But by now, it might as well be.)

.

* * *

.

Higuchi is not a good man. You know this. You've always known this, from day one. Higuchi is proud, Higuchi is cruel, but even then, somehow you failed to realize that there are no limits to Higuchi's depravity. It makes you lose whatever little remaining faith you've ever had in the man, and it's a bitter pill to swallow when you realize that, over the years, for all your _hate_ of the man, you've also come to grudgingly respect his strength. His ruthlessness. Yes, you've always disliked the sinuous edge to his flames, but over the years, you've learned to… tolerate it. For all the flaws in his character–

Or maybe that's just the kisses talking. Who knows?

If there's anything you learned from _this,_ it's that you cannot even trust the thoughts in your own mind. How long has Higuchi been messing with your head?

(Since day one.)

…

You stare down into the damp, dark sink. Early morning. Higuchi and Otsuka are both still asleep, from last night's activities. But you cannot afford the same reprieve, nor do you want to.

You think of the blood on your hands, of your newfound inability to sympathize with anyone aside from Higuchi. The throbbing pain still screaming, pulsating in your body, red and raw, the way your legs refuse to support your weight. You should be furious, you realize. _Anyone_ in your situation would be furious. But despite knowing this, you still draw a complete blank in terms of your emotions. Even the hate that you so desperately cling to –how much of it is just a mantra you repeat to yourself each day, and how much of it is something you still feel?

You are empty. Hollow.

Funny, how you once swore to yourself that you wouldn't let Higuchi break you. Seems to you like he's broken you pretty thoroughly –maybe only mentally at first, but now physically as well. He's broken you. There is no denying that.

… Well, no matter.

This… _turn of events,_ is… eye-opening. Very enlightening.

Because you're not as empty as Higuchi thinks you are. You are now consciously aware that you have a burning desire, a wish, a goal: _You're going to kill Higuchi if it's the last thing you do._

You're going to kill them all.

.

* * *

.

…

.

* * *

.

 **EDIT 10/11:** Corrected age mistyping.

.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Ta-da! The result of a KHR binge over the past few days. I swear I'm still working on _ocean waves_ here.

On this chapter: Hustling along the storyline for _angels;_ the entire thing should be around 10 chapters. Probably?

Cheers,

XxZuiliu


	3. for tears unshed and laments untold

Title: and all the lovely angels sing

Rating: M

Summary: You are born in a body that's wrong, in a world gone wrong. It's a disaster from the very beginning. [OC, AU, heavy warnings]

 **Warnings:** Violence, gore, disturbing elements, etc. Additional **trigger warnings** for future coercion, sexual abuse, descriptive violence/body harm. _Please note that certain views/actions of the characters portrayed in this story are not necessarily reflective of the author's own beliefs, and are not socially acceptable in any way, shape, or form._

AN at bottom.

.

* * *

 **and all the lovely angels sing**

 _"3. for tears unshed and laments untold"_

* * *

.

You are not in the habit of using your purple flames, instead preferring guns and knives and swords in your hands rather than fire. Higuchi thinks it's because you want to make a statement: You might be his youngest Guardian, but that does not make you any less dangerous than the others. Even without your flames, you are lethal.

This is untrue.

You dislike using your flames precisely because of Higuchi. Because of Higuchi's flames, twined around your own, rooted so deeply in the core of your very being that it makes you sick even just thinking about it. Or it would, if Higuchi hadn't scrambled your mind and subsequently ruined any and all sense of perception and judgment you once had.

Otsuka claims that Higuchi's flames are comforting. For you, that has never been the case, and you wonder how anyone could ever think otherwise.

Unbelievable.

Even more unbelievable is the way Higuchi now makes a habit of casually invading your personal space and stroking your face as one would a lover, even in public settings, directly in view of the other men under his command… who more often than not collectively fix their gazes to the ground and pretend to be statues oblivious to the world around them. Good to see some affirmation that you're not the only person in this building who thinks that Higuchi is _sick_ for doing this to you. To the body of a young boy, barely out of his pubescent years.

His fixation on this body means that he calls you to his bed, multiple times, often with fox-eyed Otsuka at his side in the evenings. It makes you furious, incandescent with rage–

That's a lie. You're incapable of experiencing any sort of harsh, burning anger; Higuchi has long since wiped any traces of anger out of your personality in these past few years.

But there is a different sort of sensation that simmers in your chest when his hands grasp at your body and his lips mouth at your skin, and you hold onto it with all the strength of a dying man, even though you don't know what it is, because at least it's _something,_ and there is no way for Higuchi to take it from you.

… Well.

The only way he could make it disappear is if he died, and you will work to ensure that he _does._

.

* * *

.

Patience, is what your late sword instructor had told you, back when he'd first pressed a wooden shinai into your hands. Bide your time, wait for the best opportunity, then strike. Lashing out foolishly will accomplish nothing.

Patience.

.

* * *

.

" _We've received reports of the Hanajima-kai making a move on our territory! Higuchi-sama, what are your orders?"_

.

* * *

.

You kill Otsuka first, as a trial run. Also because you nurse a grudge the size of a mountain against him, for his part in bringing you to Higuchi's bed that first night, and it's something you'll never forgive him for; Higuchi's second can repent for his actions in hell when he's dead. Otsuka's never liked you much, and the feeling had always been mutual on your end, even before it escalated into hate.

The man dislikes you, but not to the point where he wishes you dead, because Higuchi is fond of you, and Higuchi is Otsuka's entire world. Unfortunately for Otsuka, the same cannot be said of you.

Higuchi's Rain's fighting style has always been something rather sneaky from the sidelines. Jump in at the best moment, one-hit-kill, while others take on the brunt of the fighting and provide him with cover. Usually you. Not this time, though.

"Tsuki-chan, I'm sure we can talk this out–"

You almost manage to kill him using nothing but your skill with the sword alone, Demon Blade that you are, but Otsuka is just as skilled at evading. However, by the time he finally realizes that you're _serious,_ when the lazy, indulgent smirk on his face slips away into startled shock instead, it's already far too late. Few men in the Morningstar are ever a challenge for you in close combat nowadays; more fool him, for allowing you to come so close, and strike. Otsuka tries to disengage, leaping clear to the other side of the room–

And is promptly skewered in midair by the end of your Cloud-extended blade. It's a little tricky, changing the size of your blade with your flames like this, but it's a very interesting technique. Useful, too, for all that the taint of Higuchi in your flames makes your stomach roil.

"… why…?" Utter incomprehension. Indignant rage. Otsuka coughs, the same lips that had covered your own in Higuchi's bedroom now flecked with blood, and you find it a much more pleasing sight than the alternative. "How could you… Ryuu-kun's Mist, you shouldn't…"

You shouldn't be alive in the first place, and yet, here you are. 'Should' isn't a very strong word.

"… Ryuu… kun…"

You watch your fellow Guardian die, Higuchi's name on his lips, and it should be so very _satisfying,_ killing this man, but all you feel is nothing. Your victory, snatched away by Mist-laden kisses and brutal conditioning.

No matter. You're sure that you'll start feeling much better after you've killed Higuchi.

Higuchi, who's a little busy dealing with the Hanajima-kai matters right now. Better make good use of the time you have remaining; flame bonds are a two-way street, and there's no way Higuchi didn't notice his Rain's death.

.

* * *

.

You leave a clear wide trail of blood when you leave Otsuka's room, killing anyone who gets in your way. This includes Higuchi's Sun Guardian when he tries to stop you, and fails. Ah, what was his name again?

Unimportant.

.

* * *

.

"Who is it? Can't you see that I'm in the middle of… Tsuki-kun?" By the time you finally reach Higuchi, clearly your Sky has just finished a fight of his own –disheveled clothes, blood-splattered skin, a wild light in his eyes, but he still musters up a smile for you. "There you are, Tsuki-kun. What happened to Ren? Earlier, surely you must've felt something as well; I–"

For the first time in all these years, you cut off Higuchi's words before he finishes speaking.

"Otsuka is dead."

Higuchi freezes. His flames do a funny twist, dropping and churning –before flaring up again with a vengeance.

"... Say that again?"

You'll say it as many times as you need to; good news deserves to be shared, even with poor company. Plus, you're mildly interested in seeing how Higuchi will react to this. "Otsuka is dead."

Hm. Grief is an emotion that you've never seen Higuchi wear. It suits him well.

"We've been played. The Hanajima-kai, they –they must've planned this. Taking out one of my Guardians while keeping me distracted… _we'll see who gets the last laugh."_

Higuchi is usually calm and immaculate; very rarely do you see him so agitated. Otsuka loved him. Did he perhaps love Otsuka, too? … Is Higuchi even a creature capable of love? What a strange thought.

"Come, Tsuki," Higuchi commands, voice cold, as he heads for the door. "We have much work to do. I want you to–"

Silence.

So quiet you could hear a pin drop. Lovely.

Higuchi stands in the doorway, frozen at the sight before him. The sight of a hallway drenched in blood, decorated with bloody limbs and rolling heads, corpses of his men that are still warm, bleeding sluggishly into the carpet.

"… Tsukiya?"

A question. A demand for an answer, an explanation as to what happened. Isn't it obvious?

"Otsuka is dead," you tell him blandly, for the third and last time, because: "I killed him."

A heartbeat passes. One. Two.

There is no warning; you barely manage to muster up your own defense against the overwhelming torrent of Higuchi's Sky flames bearing down on you, mad with grief and ugly emotion.

" _You dare to betray me like this, even with everything I've given you?!"_

Wrong. It's not betrayal if he never had your loyalty in the first place.

.

* * *

.

The ensuing fight with Higuchi is _brutal._ He is leagues beyond Otsuka in terms of skill, and there is a _reason_ why it's Higuchi who leads the Morningstar, his claim unchallenged, his rule undisputed.

But even as broken as it is, your body is a weapon, and you use it to score a bloody gash into Higuchi's chest, savagely carving out his still-beating heart, before _crushing_ it in your fist. You proceed to cut off his head for good measure, and on impulse _stab_ it through the forehead, directly on the spot where he's kissed you so many times before.

In the sudden silence of the room, there is only the harsh, ragged breaths of your own panting to keep you company, and it's deafening.

Is it over?

Is it all over now?

Higuchi will never hurt you again?

You can finally have your life back?

…

Higuchi's blood stains your hands and the leftover rush of adrenalin beats a staccato rhythm in your chest, but you wonder why it is you still feel so cold and empty even though you've claimed your vengeance for the wrongs he has done you. Even colder and emptier than before, and you realize with a start that, all this time, it's been _Higuchi's_ flames keeping you warm. Your Sky is dead –by your own hand– and this means that you no longer have to suffer the revolting, sickening sensation of Higuchi's flames curling beneath your skin–

But your Cloud is cold. Hoarfrost, ruin and rime. It's so, so cold. Has it always been so cold?

You sit atop of Higuchi's dismembered corpse until his blood cools, unable to muster up the strength to move. Higuchi took away any reason you had to cling to life, but he replaced it with himself instead; now that he's gone… what are you supposed to do?

You _know_ that you want Higuchi dead, but perhaps you should've thought about the aftermath a little more.

You can't muster up the motivation to move. Higuchi is dead. Does anything else matter? Maybe you should just sit here until you die; it's not like you have anything else better to do, and Higuchi is dead.

Higuchi is dead.

Higuchi is _dead._

… What are you supposed to do, now that Higuchi is dead?

.

* * *

.

"Did you kill him?"

A voice. Suddenly, a voice filters in through your ears, and you open your eyes. How much time has passed? Minutes, hours, days? Nothing has changed. Cold corpses, coagulating blood, absolutely nothing has changed about the room where you killed Higuchi at all, except for the girl.

There is a girl standing before you. A young woman, maybe only a few years beyond your physical age. She would be pretty, were it not for the misshapen scar scoring a deep gouge down her face, red and mottled and angry, but in contrast her eyes are cold and clear.

"Did you kill Higuchi Ryuuya?"

Higuchi. Higuchi is dead. Dead, dead, _dead–_

"Answer aneki's question!" Another voice sounds, and it's accompanied by a sudden spike of _intent,_ deadly intent. Higuchi taught you how to deal with threats.

 _Eliminate any threat that stands in your way. Clear my path for me, Tsukiya._

A startled cry, clashing blades. Your sword is deflected by a knife that the other man pulls out from his sleeves, but he is off-balance, it would be easy enough for you to–

"You're Youtou, aren't you?"

It's the girl. Ebon-dark hair, glass-clear eyes that gaze at you calmly. There is no hidden fear, no twisted desire. Your blade stops mere inches from her throat, where she stands protectively in front of her subordinate.

Why did you stop? Higuchi always said… said…

"Higuchi was a monster, and he deserved to die," she tells you. "I'm glad you killed him."

" _Aneki, what are you doing?!"_

"Hush, Teru-kun."

A beat of silence. Slowly, you lower your blade, and the girl smiles, taking a step forward. For some reason, this makes you automatically take a step back, and the girl laughs.

"Are you afraid of me?" she sounds delighted. "The Demon Blade, afraid of a harmless little girl who can't fight to save her life?"

You're not afraid, because you don't feel fear. Higuchi made sure of that.

Slowly, you're backed against a wall, but the girl doesn't follow, stopping a respectable distance away from you. By this point, you've deduced why you instinctively wish to keep your distance from her –she is a Sky. Just like Higuchi. Her flames are thinner, more airy and wispy than the heavy, oppressive weight of Higuchi's flames, but this doesn't change the fact that she is a _Sky,_ and you–

"You're going into Discord," the girl informs you factually. "I know the symptoms, and you're textbook. At this rate, you're going to die."

Die.

… Yes, die. That's fine. Death sounds good. Death sounds–

Suddenly, the girl extends her hand towards you, palm up in a conciliatory gesture.

"Come with me," she says simply, eyes serious. "Come with me, Youtou. Come beneath my Sky and let me stabilize you. Higuchi may have deserved his death; but you don't need to rush to follow him just yet."

"… Why?"

Your voice comes out a hoarse, guttural croak from lack of use, but you don't care. You don't understand. You're broken. Higuchi broke you. You killed Higuchi. Dead. Why should you live?

"Because I'm weak. There are many things I want to accomplish, but I can't do it if I don't have the power to back it up," the girl explains, voice truthful. "You need a Sky. I need a strong Guardian. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement. Isn't this reason enough?"

Reason?

Higuchi told you he was your reason for living. But Higuchi is dead. There is no point in living without a reason. But… but you still have a reason?

"I need you," the girl tells you, eyes strong and clear, looking straight at you, unflinching. So unlike Higuchi. You hate Higuchi. Higuchi broke you. She is…

You don't know anything about her. Her face is an unfamiliar one, but you recognize the crest on her clothes as one of the nearby small-time yakuza groups, like the many groups that Higuchi has sent you to 'clean up' before. She's probably a local one, to arrive so soon after you've killed Higuchi. Brave, to step into the Morningstar like this. Her Sky is not as strong as Higuchi's, this much is clear, but you want nothing to do with Higuchi.

You want to be free of Higuchi. How can you be free of Higuchi?

"Aneki, get back!" The girl's bodyguard has finally found his voice again. From his frozen position at the other end of the room, he finally regains control of his limbs again, and _runs_ towards you. Towards you and the girl standing in front of you, patiently waiting for your answer. "He's dangerous! Youtou is not someone to be trifled with, all the corpses we've passed on the way here –that's all _his_ handiwork! He turned on his own family, the very ones who raised him and taught him everything he knows! How can you even think about taking in someone like that?!"

It takes you less than a second to knock out the blubbering man, and you let him drop to the ground in an undignified heap, before turning back to the young girl. "What he said. Do you trust me?"

She had only brought the one bodyguard, a bodyguard who is no match for you. One whom you've thrown out of the picture, by knocking him unconscious. And yet, there is still no trace of fear in her body.

"I need you," she repeats.

It's not an answer.

But it's enough.

.

* * *

.

This time, you willingly bind your flames to another Sky. Even though Tanaka Akari made it clear from the very beginning that she only wants you for your strength, at least she _understands,_ if only a little, and for that reason, you think you can allow yourself to finally hope.

(It's a mistake.)

.

* * *

.

…

.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Again, speedy progression of the plotline here. Yayy, Higuchi is finally dead! Three cheers for that, I guess.

Also: **Double update!** _ocean waves_ has also been updated, please head over and check it out if you've been keeping an eye on it. I promise that it's much lighter than this fic, which is probably a good thing.

For _angels:_ We'll probably touch on canon here sometime? Idk yet we'll see. Canon characters should start appearing soon, maybe? Either in the next chapter or the one after that.

-XxZuiliu


	4. for distant dreams and shattered hopes

Title: and all the lovely angels sing

Rating: M

Summary: You are born in a body that's wrong, in a world gone wrong. It's a disaster from the very beginning. [OC, AU, heavy warnings]

 **Warnings:** Violence, gore, disturbing elements, etc. Additional **trigger warnings** for coercion, sexual abuse, descriptive violence/body harm. _Please note that certain views/actions of the characters portrayed in this story are not necessarily reflective of the author's own beliefs, and are not socially acceptable in any way, shape, or form._

AN at bottom.

.

* * *

 **and all the lovely angels sing**

" _for distant dreams and shattered hopes"_

* * *

.

Tanaka Akari is… different, from Higuchi. Whenever Higuchi works at his polished desk and asks you to stand guard in the room for him, he always makes idle comments from time to time. Comments that he never expects any response to. Tanaka "Call-me-Akari," on the other hand, doesn't speak very much while she works. But when she does, when she addresses someone, she listens to their response. Doesn't matter if it's a high-ranking member of the gang or just some random grunt; she _listens._

That's… something you don't remember Higuchi ever really doing. Higuchi, who'd thrown out idle comments left and right, gauging reactions, testing responses, stringing people along with a mix of sweet promises and veiled threats, and no one ever really knew what was going on in his mind, what he wanted–

Higuchi is dead.

Higuchi is _dead,_ and he will never touch you again. He's dead. You killed him yourself.

… Akari says that it's normal for an Element to be unusually fixated on their Sky. Something about the Guardian Bond, and the repercussions of a forceful severance. And considering the other methods Higuchi had employed to keep you docile and wholly, completely under his control… 'fixation' is probably a light way of putting it, and you don't _want_ to be fixated on Higuchi. You don't want to have anything to do with him, period.

According to Akari, there's no real way of dealing with this aside from just… waiting it out. You're not entirely sure if time is the solution to your problem, but there's no harm in trying. Having a new Sky bonded with your flames helps; sometimes, you still wake up in the morning expecting to be suffocating beneath the thick, cloying press of Higuchi's flames–

But there's nothing.

Nothing but the quiet press of Akari's flames against yours; cold, distant, a glitter of the faintest layer of morning frost. Light and airy for its lack of power where Higuchi's is heavy, controlling in its crushing dominance, and it's…

For the first time in years, it feels like you can _breathe._

…

It's… different, serving Akari.

You'd been worried, in the beginning, about serving another Sky. Your experience with Higuchi does not paint them in a very flattering light. But while Akari might be a Sky, it's surprisingly easy to keep her image separate from Higuchi's. Gender aside, their bearings, personalities; the way they move and the way they talk –it's different, all of it's different.

Perhaps the only point of any significance that they share in common with each other is that streak of _ruthlessness,_ but then, no one survives in the underworld without ruthlessness to some degree.

Akari works best in silence, and there's something oddly soothing about watching her quietly at work in her makeshift office, frost-glittering flames flickering to a steady, invisible beat.

… Serving Akari is different from serving Higuchi, but at the same time, in some ways, there's not really any difference in the end. _I need you._ Akari needs you the way a swordsman needs their blade, and you are a knife in her hand, a weapon to cut down her enemies. You might serve Akari instead of Higuchi now, but you haven't stopped killing people… and you start to suspect that you never will. It certainly doesn't help that this body you dwell in is unusually suited for it.

But at the very least, Akari treats you more like a human than an object, which is something that Higuchi never quite did, not for you. For Otsuka, maybe, but not for you, nor anyone else. And for all your accomplishments, to Higuchi, you were never really anything more than an interesting toy, an effective tool.

Akari also uses you as a tool, but she treats you as one would a human, for all your lack of skill in casual conversation. You can't exactly say that you're comfortable with her, but…

… you don't dislike her, either.

.

* * *

.

The Tanaka-gumi are a small group, bordering on the very edge of Higuchi's territory –or at least, what _used_ to be Higuchi's territory; the Morningstar's lands are very quickly being divided amongst the local powers, given the spreading news of Higuchi's… unfortunate demise.

 _Unfortunate,_ indeed.

(… Higuchi deserved every inch of his bloody, painful death.)

You're not entirely sure why most people seem to have equated Higuchi's death with _your_ death; it makes for several rather interesting run-ins that the Tanaka-gumi has with other groups when you are present at the scene.

"You're still _alive?_ That's –fuck – _how?"_

Eloquent. Is it normal for Elements to follow their Sky into death? … Probably something to ask Akari about later.

"The Tanaka-gumi will be claiming this territory," you tonelessly inform the opposing group with no particular inflections in your voice, and their leader takes a quick, hurried step back, eyes wide and looking like he's seen a ghost. Behind you, the rest of Akari's men shift restlessly in vague unease, but the knowledge that you are the beloved Akari-sama's Cloud Guardian holds them in line.

"T-that's not–"

"You can't just–"

"Who does this punk think he is, just swaggering in and–"

" _Shut up!"_ Their leader roars, and the dissent disappears as if it had never even existed in the first place. The man turns back to you, his apprehension clear. "You –I don't even– _how?_ No, wait, I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. Shit. _Shit._ Are you really siding with the Tanaka-gumi now? _Them,_ of all people? Do you even know what –they're fucking _using you,_ and you're just letting them?!"

You blink. It's unclear to you, what he's referencing, and evidently he seems to be more familiar with you than you'd realized, but–

"… Akari is my Sky," you say softly. Sky. She is your Sky. So– "Of course she's using me."

-but none of it matters. Maybe you're willing to be used, if it's by her.

.

* * *

.

Tanaka Teru, Akari's incompetent bodyguard, never really warms up to you, probably in no small part due to the fact that you made his glaring incompetence clear in front of Akari on the day of your first meeting, when you'd killed Higuchi. No one would be happy standing in the same room with the other person who'd put them down in less than a minute flat. Teru glares and grunts and watches you like a particularly agitated hawk whenever the two of you are in the same vicinity as each other, which is… not something you're particularly pleased with, but neither do you do anything about it, because, for some reason–

Akari trusts Teru.

Akari _trusts_ Teru.

Even despite his incompetence.

And for all his incompetence, Teru's loyalty, his devotion to Akari is clearly genuine, and that's not something you can find fault with. Added on top of the fact that Akari enjoys his company, it means that there's not much you can do about Teru and his irrational hostility towards you.

… Admittedly, maybe not entirely irrational, but the point still stands.

"I've got my eye on you," Teru growls, towering over you with his large stature in a rare moment when the two of you are left alone with each other, but you both know that this illusion of strength is a lie. "One wrong step out of line, and I'll _end_ you before you can even come close to Aneki."

"… Whatever." Unlike the situation with Higuchi, you have no reason to kill Akari. You would much rather serve the latter over the former, even though you know that she's only using you for your skills –at least she was honest about it from the very beginning, and there was no coercion involved.

Teru scowls.

" _I'm watching you, Youtou."_

.

* * *

.

"… It wasn't supposed to be me, y'know."

Akari is in one of her rare introspective moods today, surprisingly. The girl gently rubs the ring on her hand, then looks up with a half-rueful expression on her scarred face.

"My late father, the oyabun –he chose my little brother to be his heir. Which is perfectly understandable and everything, but on the first time that he took my brother to a meeting between the oyabuns of the local groups, there was… an accident. No one survived. And suddenly, I was the only one left in the main line."

You remain silent, unsure of what to say. 'I'm sorry for your loss?' … Why is she suddenly telling you this?

(Empathy was not one of the skills Higuchi left you with.)

"It was… difficult, keeping everyone together. But I did it. The Tanaka-gumi is my family, and I couldn't just stand by and watch it all fall apart… my father would've wished for me to step up, in his absence." Akari lifts her head and looks straight at you, eyes blazing, and it occurs to you that this is the most alive you've seen your new Sky. "I'm going to make the Tanaka-gumi into one of the highest powers in this region, stronger than the Morningstar ever was. And then, I will take the vengeance that I am owed."

She doesn't say the words like one would a promise, but more as if it were fact instead.

"I'm glad I found you, Youtou," Akari says, smiling. "Through you, I will have my vengeance."

"… I'm glad to have been found by you."

The girl stares at you in silence for a moment, then _laughs._

(It's not until the day she dies that you realize why.)

.

* * *

.

" _I don't understand; why did you agree to become Tanaka's Cloud? Her methods –you killed Higuchi, didn't you? What makes her any better than Higuchi?"_

"… _She asked."_

.

* * *

.

Akari dies on a clear spring day, when the Tanaka-gumi's empire is finally complete. All enemies in the bordering area –gone. Cleared out. Either absorbed into the Tanaka-gumi, or _dead._ It's no small secret that Tanaka Akari of the Tanaka-gumi holds the leash to the mad dog that is the Demon Blade once wielded by Higuchi, and your name is an effective weapon all on its own that Akari wields in her hands.

Wielded.

"… Akari?"

Slowly, your hand reaches up to your side. A blinding burst of pain, blood splattering onto the ground. But pain is nothing to you; pain means nothing.

And yet, it _does._

Your Sky smiles at you, cold and gentle all at once, but never for a moment does the still-smoking gun in her hands falter as she keeps it trained directly on you.

"Thank you for everything, Youtou," she says. "Thank you for letting me use you. I appreciate everything that you've done for the Tanaka-gumi."

The words are kind, but her actions are anything but. Your heart beats a cold, sunken rhythm in your chest, and you wonder if this is what horror should taste like.

… Why?

Akari came to you. Found you, in wake of Higuchi's death, when you were dying. She told you that she _needed_ you, and you… you had nothing left. So you followed her. She promised–

"I told you that it wasn't your time to die yet, the day I found you after you'd killed Higuchi," Akari smiles, and it's such a sweet, gentle smile. A smile that makes your blood run cold. "Because I needed you, in order for the Tanaka-gumi to climb to the very top. I told you that, didn't I? Our deal was perfectly clear. Why bother acting so surprised, Youtou?"

… she promised you _nothing._

You forcibly press down against the bleeding bullet wound in your side, and Akari –Akari offers you nothing but a lopsided grin, eyes glittering with amusement and satisfaction. Behind her, Teru looks at you with something very close to pity in his eyes, but remains silent, as a good bodyguard does.

"I don't need you anymore, Youtou," Akari tells you. "You may die now."

.

* * *

.

Four years ago, you slaughtered the upper echelons of the Morningstar and killed Higuchi. In comparison… killing Akari, dismantling the Tanaka-gumi she so loves would be _easy._

But for some reason, you don't.

(Not at first, you don't.)

… There's no real reason for it.

You think, maybe it's because Akari treated you like a human being. Maybe it's because she extended her hand to you when you had nothing left. Maybe it's because, for all her deception –she's never _lied,_ not to you, not to anyone else, and you… you don't even know what to think about it anymore. The moment she'd pointed her handgun at you while your back was turned and _shot_ you, you don't… you don't…

"… Can I ask why?" Your voice is fainter than the softest whisper of leaves in the wind. In this moment, you're suddenly just so cold and so _tired_ of everything. Akari… you don't _like_ her, but you care for her in a way that you've never cared for Higuchi, and for Akari to turn on you like this…

"Haven't you realized it yet? _You_ are my vengeance." Akari is never one to monologue, but perhaps it's precisely because of these four years you've spent in each other's company that she deigns to respond. "… Six years ago, the Morningstar killed my father, my brother, and all our allies, all because we refused a contract. Guess who Higuchi decided to send in to do the job?"

… Ah.

("No survivors," Higuchi tells you, each and every time, just before he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead–)

Your Sky smiles, and it's a bitter expression that does not suit her at all. "Yeah, I thought so. You don't even remember, do you? … Geez, just how many people have you killed?"

You remain silent. You don't know the answer to that question. You don't _want_ to know.

"I was pretty surprised that you actually killed him. Higuchi, I mean," Akari tilts her head, smile widening. "After all, there were _rumors_ about the relationship you had… who would've thought? Did he–"

"Watch out, Aneki!"

You… did not mean to do that, not exactly. Your body just reacted on its own. You slowly retract your blade, Cloud flames singing, and Teru regards you warily, as one would a monster, bodily shielding Akari behind him.

Akari, who's still smiling.

"So sensitive. I guess there's some truth to those rumors, after all. How very scandalous. Are you going to kill me for knowing your dirty little secret, Youtou?"

" _Aneki!"_

You don't know. Are you going to kill Akari? Just like you did Higuchi? … But Akari, Akari isn't like Higuchi. She's not–

 _How is she any different? They're only using you to serve their own purposes. Higuchi treats you like a toy. Akari treats you like a tool. That look in her eyes –are you really so starved for affection that any scraps of attention thrown your way, you would mistake for treating you as human?_

 _Give up._

 _You're more monster than human. Didn't Higuchi make sure of that?_

"… You're very cruel," you quietly tell Akari, whose smile only widens.

"Coming from you, Youtou? That's almost a compliment."

.

* * *

.

Akari is not a fighter. The only reason why she succeeded in putting a bullet in you in the first place is because you weren't expecting it. Teru, for all that he is her bodyguard… is even less of a problem.

There is a reason, why Akari needed you to fight and kill for her Tanaka-gumi.

From the moment Akari had failed to kill you when she fired her first bullet, she sealed her own death.

.

* * *

.

" _So this is how it ends, then? You're going to kill me, just like you did Higuchi?"_

"… _You decided to kill me because you don't need me anymore. I… don't think I need you anymore, either."_

" _Touché. Well, to be honest, I thought you'd let me kill you. Don't you love me, Youtou?"_

"… _I'm sorry, Akari."_

" _Heh… hey, after you kill me, leave the rest of the Tanaka-gumi alone, okay? My last order to you, as your Sky. No, as Akari. Can you do that for me, please?"_

"…"

"… _I hate you. I hate you so much, Youtou. I hate you so much that it hurts… am I dying now, Youtou?"_

"…"

" _Stay_ … _stay with me until the very end, Youtou?"_

"… _Alright."_

.

* * *

.

You leave the country.

When you served Higuchi, you were a nightmare, a knife in the dark. In the years that you served Akari, your role was only more pronounced. But an Element serving two Skies, and killing both of them –perhaps, it's only natural, that you would end up reviled and hunted after this, and you're perfectly fine with that.

It's inconvenient, certainly, but it's not _surprising,_ considering your actions.

 _Leave the rest of the Tanaka-gumi alone, okay?_

… It's not surprising.

You're not entirely certain why you aren't dead yet, considering what happened the last time you killed your Sky – _Discord,_ Akari had called it, and while your flames are ash-cold right now, it's not… it's not quite the same. Your flames aren't as… _unstable,_ as they used to be. The Harmony you shared with Akari had been frail, thin, but they've helped you grow used to the cold.

You wonder if you'll ever feel warm again.

… Truth be told, you have no idea where you're going. You have no idea what you're doing, period. You just… you just want to get out. _Leave._ The destination is unimportant.

… What are you _doing?_

You killed Higuchi, because Higuchi deserved to die. You killed Akari, because Akari tried to kill you. And now you're just… running? Because the entire Japanese underworld wants to kill you? Because the Tanaka-gumi is out for your blood, and Akari asked you not to kill them?

Sitting in the international airport in another country, watching the rest of the crowd walk by –you come to the firm decision that you will never, ever bond yourself to another Sky again. Even if it means your flames freeze over, even if it means you become an empty husk, even if it means you _die–_

It's not worth it.

Resolutely, you don't think about the warmth that is offered by a Harmony; flickers of warmth that, while inviting, means _nothing_ in the end, not when your Sky wants you dead. The faint brush of Sky against Cloud, lulling you into a sense of _belonging,_ when there is no such belonging that exists, not for you, never for you–

 _Hold on just a fucking second._

Your eyes widen. Fucking. Sky. Flames. When did they appear? … In the middle of the _airport?_ You recognize the sensation of Sky flames brushing softly against your own –first Higuchi, then Akari– and you _twist_ your own flames without a single ounce of hesitation, breaking off the weak, tentative attempt at bonding before it can even begin to take, because _fuck that._

 _No more Sky-bonds._

There's a startled cry somewhere to the side, something that sounds pained, but you don't care about that. You stand up, knowing that it's high time for you to leave, maybe you should just sneak onto the next flight leaving, wherever the hell it's going–

It's a kid.

Blond hair, brown eyes. European. The expression on his face clearly says that he's ready to break into tears at any moment, but still he desperately tries to hold them in, messily wiping at his watery eyes. Understandable; you hadn't exactly been gentle in your Rejection. But the only reason why the kid had been able to try and reach out to your Cloud with his Sky in the first place is because you'd been distracted –that, and you'd just broken your bond with Akari barely a week ago, so of course–

The kid's gaze lands on you.

 _Uh oh._

It's the first time that someone looks at you, and their expression _lights up,_ something that's a cross between joy and hope, and it makes something distinctly uncomfortable crawl over your skin. Because the only way you know how to deal with kids is killing them, and that… would probably not be the best course of action to take in a busy, crowded airport.

… And now the kid is making his way over to you, followed by… a pair of… suited men?

… Really?

You try not to make it too obvious that you're looking for an escape route when the kid comes up and starts babbling at you in a foreign language you don't understand, and are in no hurry to understand.

"Kid, trust me, you really don't want to do this," you mutter under your breath, delicately trying to extricate yourself without any copious amounts of screaming and crying involved, because that draws _attention,_ which you'd much rather avoid–

For a moment, it seems as if the little boy is going to shiver and draw back. Even despite the death glare from his body guards –and you are very pointedly _not interested_ in why such a young little boy has bodyguards following him around in an airport– you don't bother hiding your irritation, and children are sensitive.

… But no, of course things can't be that easy.

A stubborn light enters the young boy's eyes, and the slight nervous tremble in his body disappears.

The, he fucking _speaks Japanese._

"H-hi… my name… Dino. P-please be… my… friend?"

.

* * *

.

…

.

* * *

Author's Notes:

AKA actually, this is that one fic which wonders about the dubious existence of Dino's Guardians… although tbh I haven't really made up my mind on this yet? (Shrugs) Hohoho, what a coincidence that Dino shows up in the airport…

… At this rate, MC would be much happier living as a hermit on a mountain than being bonded to another Sky again.

Yeah, you can probably tell I got tired of writing Akari's stuff, so we're just moving along with the plot now. Three cheers for that, maybe? Idk. At least MC seems to have recovered a little from the Higuchi experience.

Also, doing a fun little thing on **Tumblr** for my readers for Christmas this year!

* * *

 **Special:** Submit any OC prompt to me on Tumblr prefaced with 'Merry Christmas' on Tumblr, and I'll write a short snippet for it, to be posted on my Tumblr blog sometime in December after I finish my exams. _Please note that any prompts submitted through PM/review on FFN will NOT be addressed._

The prompts don't necessarily have to be for a fandom that I've already written something for, but if it's for a fandom I'm not familiar with, I'll probably end up discarding the prompt. Any discarded prompts will be mentioned on my QA page on Tumblr.

* * *

Cheers,

XxZuiliu


	5. of gentle footprints, broken glass

Title: and all the lovely angels sing

Rating: M

Summary: You are born in a body that's wrong, in a world gone wrong. It's a disaster from the very beginning. [OC, AU, heavy warnings]

 **Warnings:** Violence, gore, disturbing elements, etc. Additional **trigger warnings** for coercion, sexual abuse, descriptive violence/body harm. _Please note that certain views/actions of the characters portrayed in this story are not necessarily reflective of the author's own beliefs, and are not socially acceptable in any way, shape, or form._

AN at bottom.

.

* * *

 **and all the lovely angels sing**

" _5\. of gentle footprints, broken glass"_

* * *

.

His name is Dino Cavallone, and he is the fourth son of Don Cavallone, the head of the Cavallone Famiglia.

"Thank you for coming with us," one of the kid's bodyguards says to you. Short, clipped. There isn't an ounce of gratitude in his voice, all business, and the heavy foreign accent tainting his Japanese pronunciation is something truly atrocious… not that you bother to enlighten him on this fact. There's no point in doing so, not when the only other person who speaks Japanese around here is the oblivious little kid, who's all of… what, eight? Nine?

 _That's the age you were when Higuchi made you his Cloud._

You close your eyes and deliberately shut down that line of thought, brusquely shoving it aside. _Higuchi is dead._

… If only his shadow over you would be so easily dispelled.

As if on cue directly in contrast to your dark thoughts, the little blond boy skipping in front of you turns around, blinking wide eyes that curve into crescents as he smiles brightly at you. Is he trying to cheer you up, or is he just trying to act cute and provoke sympathy from you?

Whatever his reason might be, you remain dispassionate, utterly unmoved, and swiftly brush aside the tentative flicker of curious Sky flames against your own with what is the flame equivalent of the cold shoulder. The little boy falters for a moment at this, his smile fading, before he turns back around, hanging his head and continuing to follow his bodyguards with small, shuffling steps.

"We… apologize for the young master's… hastiness. He has yet to learn how to properly control his flames; most unbecoming, for a child of Don Cavallone." If possible, the kid's head ducks even lower, shame-faced and cheeks flushing at the man's rebuking words. Words that are stated like objective fact, rather than opinion, which is… interesting.

(… Interesting, but none of your business; nor do you care to learn more about it.)

The almost-Harmony that you'd forcibly prevented from taking place –even though you unhesitatingly Rejected the bond, there are still traces of the kid's flames interspersed within yours, and it's a clumsy, uncomfortable not-bond feeling that's… not _unpleasant,_ but it's only a small step below making you feel like you want to kill something. Preferably in a very painful manner.

His bodyguards, after they'd recovered from their stunned shock at seeing their 'young master' nearly bond with a complete stranger out of the blue, had promptly rushed forward to confirm the status of the bond: _Is it a full bond, is it a fledgling bond, or is it just a first courting–_

All of the terms went flying over your head. Even after the only Japanese-speaking man had started translating after seeing the blank incomprehension in your eyes, you still didn't quite understand the terms they were throwing out left and right. But after seeing that the bond didn't take, that the vestiges of the kid's flames that they could sense with yours were only fragmented vestiges, he'd muttered something about 'failed residual remnants,' then _offered_ for you to visit the Cavallone's territory so you could get the Sky remnants removed.

"Offered."

… You don't quite know the intricacies of it all, but you can hazard a guess. Higuchi had a habit of smothering you in his flames. _Mine,_ he'd say, pulling you in close before he'd kiss your forehead and breathe flames down your throat. Akari hadn't been quite so blatant about it, but her flames were a steady, constant pulse behind the flickering beat of your own flames.

A sign of ownership, of _possession._ Each person has a signature unique to them, and most likely there was something about the kid's that screamed _Cavallone,_ and there was no way his men could let a complete stranger walk around wearing the flames of a Cavallone Sky. Or something.

You don't know the entirety of their motives, but you don't _care._ As far as you're concerned, the kid's flames would eventually dissipate on their own, anyways. Maybe after a week or two, given that the kid's flames aren't particularly strong. But if they want to hurry the process along, that's something you're fine with, too.

Get the kid's flames removed, then leave. Although, given the kid's poorly-hidden excitement, it doesn't seem like he knows the reason why his bodyguards are bringing you along with them…

…

… Well, no matter. You're not interested in sticking around. And if it turns out they have less-than-positive intentions towards you… you're no stranger to killing. You might not _like_ it, might not derive any enjoyment from it as others do, but this doesn't change the cold truth of the fact that you're _good_ at it.

Unfortunate, that.

.

* * *

.

"I apologize for the inconvenience that my son has caused you, young man."

Pleasantries. Boring, useless. Don Cavallone's Japanese is a good step above the level of his subordinate's, but it still rings a harsh note in your ears, and it takes effort for you not to frown. You have a feeling that it wouldn't be looked upon kindly by the three other armed men in the room –one to the left, one to the right, and one in your blind spot.

How predictable.

You pretend not to notice anything out of place. What was it that Akari always used to say? _Men like having the illusion of power; it makes them feel comfortable, and much easier to play towards your own ends._ Something like that? "Please remove the Sky flames."

The visible guard standing to your left bristles, but you don't even bat an eye. Twitchy, easily riled, most likely quick-tempered as well. Not good guard material. Then again, Teru hadn't been good guard material, either… though that was more the fault of his shortcomings in skill, rather than personality…

"How dare you be rude to the Don! I–"

"It's quite alright, Mario," the Don himself interrupts the furious outburst of butchered Japanese, smiling a smile that is void of any good cheer and humor. Instead, it looks almost calculative. You lower your eyes. _Men like having the illusion of power._ "I'm sure the young man didn't mean anything with his… frankness."

"You are most forgiving, sir."

You resist the temptation to roll your eyes, tempering your impatience –and rising irritation– with effort. Effort that goes unnoticed by the rest of the room.

"Stay still, alright? It's not painful, and it won't take long," the old Don finally says, eyes crinkling in an expression that would be reassuring if you hadn't seen so many faked expressions in your years spent as an attack dog. He reaches a flame-wreathed hand to your forehead, barely stopping right above skin contact.

(It's good that he does. You don't think you could've stopped yourself from cutting off his hand otherwise, mafia don or no. There are few reservations that you have, when it comes to having blood spilled, and spilling blood. Higuchi made sure of that.)

You're careful, monitoring precisely what his flames do to yours. In this area, your numerous unpleasant experiences with Higuchi has given you plenty of practice. If he tries anything –you will not hesitate to ensure that he does not live to regret it. One Higuchi is more than enough.

For all his suspicions, though, he does not attempt anything. All he does with his flames is call back the fragments of Sky scattered throughout your own, much like a parent coaxing a stubborn, reluctant child back to them. You don't relax, though. You won't, not until–

"… _no! FERMO! Papa, fermo!"_

–what.

No one expected the kid suddenly barging in. The guards had been focused on their Don, the Don had been focused on calling back his son's flames, and you had been more concerned about monitoring what the Don was doing to your flames… quite understandably, everyone was startled by the kid charging in blindly, making a beeline straight for you.

And, quite understandably, you… do not react very well to this.

You might not understand Italian, but it doesn't take a genius to realize that the other men in the room are swearing up a storm when you violently _flare_ your flames, burning everyone and everything that comes too close to you for comfort. It already puts you on edge, _letting_ another Sky comb through your flames –if it wasn't for trying to keep a low profile and for getting rid of the brat's flames, you wouldn't even bother with this– and the way the _fucking little brat_ just homes in on you, right when his father is cleaning up the mess _he_ made–

It would be easy, you realize with a sudden start. It would be _easy,_ to kill them. It would only take a moment. The guards are skilled, but none of them are a match for you. The Don might be dangerous, but he's also _old,_ and the unhealthy pallor in his skin, the tremble in his hand that he tries and fails to hide…

It would be _easy._

"Dino!" The brat's name is the only thing you catch in the old Don's angry, berating tirade towards his son. You catch his gaze flickering to you warily; once, twice, thrice. Wariness, tinged with disbelief, as if he can't fathom why your flames are suddenly a roaring inferno, instead of the candle flicker he'd been working his way through earlier.

You don't bother enlightening him. It's easy to hide things. After seeing Higuchi do it so many times, you can do it in your _sleep._

… To hell with giving him the illusion of power. _You've fucking finally had enough of all of this._

You let your flames burn for a moment longer, then let it wink out of existence all at once, not even a single stray ember remaining. Perfect control. It's not the full extent of what you can do nowadays, but it should be more than enough to warn them to _back off._

"I'm leaving." Voice placid, your tone brooks no argument. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to send your message across clearly enough.

"W-wait," the Don swallows. "Those flames, that level of strength. You… I _know_ my son; Dino is clumsy, the weakest of all my children –he shouldn't have been able to establish any level of Harmony with someone of your caliber in the first place! Not unless–"

Not unless the brat caught you at a rare moment of unawareness, in a time when you're still recovering from the second Sky bond you've personally severed with your own two hands–

"–unless you have Perfect Compatibility with each other! This –this is _Natural Harmony!"_

…

 _What._

"You're mistaken."

"Natural Harmony! _Natural Harmony!_ You –do you even realize how _rare_ that is?" Your fingers twitch for your blade at the sudden gleam that enters the old Don's eyes. You've seen it before; that burst of covetousness. You've seen it in _Higuchi._ "The last recorded case was in Vongola Sesto's generation, between Sesto and his Sun Guardian! The things they could accomplish together, it was –w-wait, where are you going?"

You ignore the old man, silently reinforcing your body with flames before kicking directly at the windows; the glass shatters with a loud, satisfying crash. Good. Exit secured.

"… What are you… it's… it's _Natural Harmony._ Are you seriously thinking of turning your back on Natural Harmony?!" The Don's voice rises in outrage, scandalized. His brat shrinks back, but the little boy's gaze remains fixated on you, and that itself makes a chill run down your spine. No more Skies. "How can you –young man, do you even _realize_ the significance of what you're giving up here?"

Yes. You're giving up a Sky bond. You don't _want_ to be bonded to another Sky again.

No more Skies.

The Don's gaze hardens. "I apologize in advance for this, but I'll have to rescind my previous promise to allow you to leave Cavallone territory. It seems that you might have some misgivings about young Dino, but I'm sure we can work out your differences."

You slant a sideways glance at the aged Sky, who's abruptly changed his mind about letting you go. Of course. People like him, men like him –they're all the same. Promises mean nothing, in face of potential profit. Before, you were nothing, just a stray that his youngest son picked up off the streets, but now, you're a _worthwhile investment,_ a… how did Higuchi like to put it?

A _rare gem._ A special item.

Your gaze flits over the room. Trembling guards –whether it's from pressure or fear or anger is anyone's guess. A stupid, spoiled little brat of a Sky, clinging to his father's jacket. A determined Don, who appears more than ready to use force to make you stay. _Foolish._

Higuchi is gone, and so is Akari. No one can hold you. No one will ever hold you again.

"I cannot allow you to leave, young man," Don Cavallone says gravely. "Sit. Let's talk this out like civilized people, shall we?"

You turn and jump out the window.

.

* * *

.

As it turns out, you end up having to kill several men as you forcibly cut a bloody path out from this goddamn _fortress_ where you'd been brought to meet Don Cavallone. It certainly hadn't seemed like that on the way in. Your unauthorized departure causes a not-insignificant disturbance in the area, and it's… inconvenient, because you're still knee-deep in Cavallone territory. And even though you've managed to escape from the old Sky before he brought in reinforcements, none of this changes the fact that you're in a foreign country that you don't even speak the language of, and you have no fucking idea where you are or where you should go from here.

… You should probably find a bookstore and find a few elementary Italian books sometime. It would probably take you a week or so to get the grasp of the language, maybe another to become halfway fluent. Everything is easier in this body; this broken body that still operates like a flawless machine.

Luckily, there are tourists in the local town, and this helps you blend in. Somewhat. You avoid the men searching for you, primarily because you know the signs and tells of tailing and being tailed, but they have the home advantage –if you can't make your way out of here, then they'll find you eventually, with their ever-tightening net, and you _refuse_ to be found.

You know what the old Don wants to do. He wants to force you to Harmonize with his son –"Natural Harmony" be damned; it's all just flimsy excuses. Akari's mentioned Natural Harmony to you before, the rarity of it, those less than one-in-one-thousand odds. If the two of you were truly perfectly compatible, you would've Harmonized automatically and in a heartbeat with no chance to Reject anything whatsoever until it was all over, and by then it would be far too late.

… Or maybe it wouldn't be; you'd just have to kill your Sky again. Third time's the charm, right? But there's no way a _child_ like that would ever be compatible with something like you, so this is all just a moot point–

Ah.

You pause, your eye caught by a shop you very nearly just walked past without a second glance. It's a clothing store. A boutique, to be precise. One that happens to be well-stocked with dresses and other distinctly feminine articles of clothing. The vague hints of a plan to evade Cavallone attention start forming in your mind; perhaps…

Briefly, you cast a glance into your reflection in the shop's window. Gray eyes, black hair. Dull colors, but the high cheekbones and pointed chin cast your features into something refined instead, settling somewhere firmly into the elegant, androgynous category. In a single word: _Pretty._

But what do you care for this beauty? This beauty –it's the very beauty that Higuchi had been so thoroughly enamored with, the beauty which is precisely the reason why he'd aside the last of his inhibitions when it came to you, and… and…

… and nothing.

Right now, the first thing on your list of priorities is to evade the attention of your relentless pursuers in a foreign country. Pursuers who happen to be _mafia,_ and isn't that ever-so-delightful to consider.

So perhaps, a disguise would be in order…?

.

* * *

.

…

.

* * *

Author's Notes:

… To be continued? Yeah, I don't know if MC is going to end up being Dino's Guardian, actually. Whoops? :D Or... maybe I'm just trolling y'all idk we'll see when we get to it. At least we have a better idea of the timeline now?

Yes, this fic is pre-canon. We'll probably go into canon at some point. Would be fun to see Tsuna, right? :D

Aaaaand I just realized I missed a good point for MC to get a name in the dialogue with Don Cavallone. Well. I'm sure we'll have opportunities to make up for this later on in the fic. ;3

Toodles,

XxZuiliu


End file.
